Keep Your Composure
by PervyMonk
Summary: James and Israel Gannon are old friends ravaged by time. One is searching for his past while the other runs from it. They team up and take on the wasteland. Written for the Fallout Kink Meme
1. I am Alpha and Omega

There's an old ghoul that no one talks to that sits in the corner of the bar. No one knows his story, but they all know him. He gives medical attention for a fee less than the other doctors around. He is always reading some strange, tattered book called 'Bible'. He hardly speaks, but when he does his voice still sounds human with a faint trace of coarseness. He flips through the pages delicately, silently mouthing the words to himself.

There is a man who just got into town. No one has talked to him, and no one knows his story. People stay away, intimidated by his crackling electric armor. He has the edges of blond hair turning grey, and a hard look to his blue eyes. He sees the ghoul sitting alone at the bar, and walks up to him as though he is an old friend.

"'I am the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end," he says, causing the ghoul's head to perk up. "I will give unto him that is athirst of the waters of life freely."

"How'd you recognize me?" the ghoul asks, gingerly shutting the book. "I can't even recognize myself most days." The man smiles, and it softens his hard gaze.

"I didn't. I recognized your Bible. If it wasn't you, I was going to kill whoever had taken it from you." The ghoul shakes his head, standing up.

"Still the same old warrior, aren't you, Israel?"

"Seems you're still the same old good-doer, James," Israel replies easily. "Come with me." The ghoul looks at him for a moment, not sure what to say to the offer. Israel jerks his thumb to the door behind him. "I won't wait forever."

James nods slowly, as if reassuring himself that this isn't a dream, and he walks off, side-by-side with the electric soldier.


	2. On The Radio

They move through Arizona. The Legion ignores them, and some of the recent recruits fear Israel. The call him a crackling demon because of his armor, and it gives them leeway to move freely. They have not incurred the wrath of Caesar. They have not even been noticed by Caesar. That suits them just fine.

James listens to his Pip-Boy radio every night, missing the sound of Three Dog's voice. Israel knows what he hopes to hear, and doesn't have the heart to tell him he will probably never hear it again. So he gets James to talk.

"Why are you always fiddling with that thing?" he asks gruffly, knowing full well the why of it, but hoping to ease his friend's pain. James smiles serenely, and Israel can see a hint of the man James used to look like.

"I'm listening for her," he says, turning the knob to another frequency. "I saw her once, after she turned on the purifier. I was in the late stages of radiation sickness. My skin was flaking off, exposing the soft muscle underneath."

"Soft? You let that Vault turn you into a pansy?" Israel snorts. James nods.

"There was no reason to fight in there. It wasn't perfect, but it provided a good home for my daughter." After a pause, he adds, "I hated it in there." Israel laughs, motioning for him to continue. "She had just woken up. The radiation knocked her out, just as it had done to me." He smiles sadly, stirring the embers of the slowly fading fire. "It might be a bit longer, and take a little more radiation, but she'll probably end up like her old man if she doesn't die before then."

"And you're looking for her?" Israel gently prompts. James nods, shaking himself out of his sad thoughts.

"Yes. I didn't approach her. I," he pauses, looking toward the dark horizon. "I didn't want to complicate things. She seemed so happy. She's grown up, and she doesn't need me anymore. And, selfishly, I didn't want her to see me like this." He resignedly looks down at his decayed hand, flexing the fingers. Israel nods, and doesn't press for anymore. James continues to search through the radio stations for any news at all. A crackling voice cutting in and out proclaims,

"_A package Courier found shot in the head outside of Goodsprings has recovered. She seems to be doing fine, but only time will tell. This is Mr. New Vegas, wishing you lady-like luck tonight." _ Distorted music begins to jingle, and Israel can make out the words to Blue Moon.

James turns his radio off, but there is a glimmer of hope in his eyes that Israel isn't willing to extinguish.


	3. Searching

"I hate it here," Israel grumbles, shifting uncomfortably in his leather armor. He hid his Enclave armor in a bunker somewhere before they made it to the Mojave. Neither of them want the attention of the NCR.

"It isn't so bad," James comments, squinting to look at the lights in the distance. "Seems a fair bit more civilized than when we were last here."

"You can't civilize savages," Israel grumbles, wiping the sweat from his brow. James chuckles, pausing just long enough to harvest some white horsenettle.

"You're just being grumpy," James teases. In a more serious tone, he says, "Good God, Israel. We're getting old." Israel just harrumphs, and moves to follow the ghoul.

They pass through Goodsprings, at James' instance. He asks around about the courier who had survived a bullet to the head.

"What was her hair color? Eye color? Did she remember her name? Did she have anyone with her?"

Israel grows uncomfortable with James' desperate questioning, the tone in his voice hitting a little too close to home. He leaves James to his integration, and goes to the Prospector Saloon.

"Please," he says to no one in particular, and no one answers him.

James wearily follows him after a while, unsatisfied with the answers he had gotten from the townspeople. They had been wary of him, and didn't tell him much.

Israel doesn't ask how it went. He can see it in his eyes.

The next day, the duo set off again, and the bounce in James' step is significantly subdued. He is glued to the radio to no avail; the courier isn't mentioned anywhere.

"You ever think it might not be her?" Israel asks as they traverse I-95. "That you might be mistaken?" James shakes his head sadly.

"It's the only lead I've got, Israel." Israel doesn't answers, only thinking of the blond haired boy he left behind, once upon a time.


	4. Getting Old

The searing Mojave sun beats down on them. Israel has to stop to rest more often than he would have liked, but James doesn't say anything about it, other than hounding him to drink more water. On one such occasion, they are taking advantage of the meager shade of a honey mesquite tree. Israel watches the sky through the thin branches, ignoring the way his bones creak when he shifts too much.

_Good God, Israel. We're getting old. _

He scoffs, taking another sip of water out of a bottle held by a wrinkled, trembling hand. The radio talks about events going on in the Mojave, never mentioning anyone by name. Israel can practically taste the disappointment radiating off of James.

He leans back against the rough tree trunk, and shuts his eyes against the light. He tries not to think of his own son, but he drifts into his thoughts. He can only remember him as a little slip of a thing, squinty-eyed and always getting into Mona's books. Israel never thought he'd miss his freckled splattered face and crooked smile as much as he does.

No matter how old Israel turns, whether or not he gets turned into a ghoul (God forbid, he can't imagine living that long), he will always regret leaving Arcade behind.

He tries to force the sad thoughts from his mind by resting. He'll only sleep a moment. He wants to forget his past, to forget Arcade and Mona. Soft music from James' radio lulls him into a blissful, dreamless sleep.

When he wakes up, it is already dark out. He grumbles at James' for letting him sleep so long.

"I'm not a damn pansy," he mutters. James smiles knowingly, and Israel feels his heart constrict with gratitude.

James has always known him better than he has known himself. He isn't the oldest friend, but he is the best, and Israel is honored to be traveling with him once again.

Hell, all of his other friends were probably dead.


	5. Enough

"Enough is enough," Boone says firmly. The Courier tries to stifle her coughing long enough to answer him. She manages to shake her head no. His mouth sets in a firm line. He opens his mouth to call her by her name, and she winces.

She wants to forget who she was before she was Courier.

"Don't-" she coughs, wheezing to catch her breath. "_Don't call me that." _She falters underneath his gaze. "You don't have the right," she finishes quietly.

"The right to what? To tell you to get help? To save your own life?"

"Big words from a man with a god-" she coughs again, blood spattering her palm. "God damned death wish." He crosses his arms, the tense set of his shoulders all that is need to let her know she hit a sore spot. She winces. "There isn't anything anyone can do. I guess you can say this is a remnant of my own death wish." She wipes the blood on her jeans, not caring anymore if he sees it.

"Fine," he says as she lies down to go to bed. "I'm not going to let this go," he warns. She nods, and he sets up watch for the night, his back to her. She reaches in her pocket for a weathered slip of paper. She isn't sure how it's lasted this long without disintegrating between her nervous fingers. She curls up to mouth the single word written on the paper over and over again before falling asleep.

Boone doesn't ask her why she says that word anymore. At first, he thought she was Legion. Thought she was saying the name of their ferryman to haunt him. But she says it the way he says Carla's name when he wakes up from the nightmares that plague him, and so he leaves it be.


	6. Unwilling

There's a sort of companion fic to this, Sierra Leone, if you guys are interested.

* * *

><p>Courier unwillingly walks into the Old Mormon Fort, Boone at her heels. The piece of paper is clenched in her hand like a talisman, and she gives Boone longing side long glances. She doesn't want him to watch over her, and he is fine with that. He doesn't know who she longs for, but it isn't him, and that is fine.<p>

Julie Farkas is busy tending to sick residents of Freeside, so Courier waits. She paces around camp nervously, avoiding eye contact with anyone who tries to look at her.

Julie sticks her head into Arcade's tent, arms full of an ill, screaming child.

"Arcade," she says desperately. He looks up from his book. "I need you to look at the Courier." He makes a face, but dutifully stands up.

"All right. Lead the way," he answers. She points toward the Courier, and Arcade's heart locks in his throat.

Dirty blonde hair hangs over her eyes, but he can still make out the blue color behind them. Her face is full of hard angles better suited for a man, and if he squints he can almost see who she reminds him of. He cautiously approaches her, as if afraid she'll disappear any minute. When she sees him, she forces a weary smile.

"Hello. Are you the doctor I need to see?" she asks, and the illusion is broken.

"Yes. I'm Arcade. I'm afraid I don't have a good bedside manner," he says. She doesn't react at his name, and it's enough to make him wonder if she even knows the man he is thinking of. "What's your name?" She flinches, and it's so slight he isn't sure if she even flinched at all.

"Courier," she says after a moment's deliberation. "Just Courier." He nods.

"All right, 'Just Courier', if you'll follow me to my tent, I'll take a look at you." She nods and follows him. The man n the red beret shoots her a questioning look, and she smiles weakly at him.

"I'll be fine," she tells him. "You don't have to come in and hold my hand." He nods slowly, and Arcade gets the vibe that the man would have done that very thing, had she asked him to. He motions for her to seat in his recently vacated chair, and she does.

"So, what's the problem?" he asks. She hesitates.

"Radiation poisoning," she says finally. He nods, moving to get his doctor's bag.

"All right. Nothing a little Rad-X can't fix, depending on how long you've been afflicted. When did you-"

"I'm dying," she says firmly. He looks at her incredulously, and she smiles weakly. "Took a massive dose of radiation close to my twentieth birthday. Knocked me out for two weeks. When I woke, I drank Rad-X like it was water. Hell, I practically bathed in the stuff. But-"

"But you didn't do all of that soon enough. Damage was already done," Arcade finishes. She nods. "So I take it you're here because your friend insisted?" She nods again. Arcade sighs, and pulls up a chair to sit next to her. "You and I both know there isn't anything I can do."

"Yes," she says, and he can see who she reminds him of again. A smiling man with dark circles underneath his eyes that picks him up and swings him around while his parents look on indulgently. A man who grew old before his time, like the girl sitting in front of him.


	7. Let's Go

Israel fidgets uncomfortably. He _never _fidgets. But James dragged him to Camp Forlorn Hope, after following the news of their attack on Nelson, the charge led by the Courier. James helps Doctor Richards with the new influx of patients, much to the good doctor's gratitude.

He can't relax. He is in enemy territory. He feels that they know him on sight, and he will have to fight them for his life. But the soldiers pass him by, and they're more chipper after the successful battle.

They don't see him, and he doesn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

James is asking around about the girl. He's getting definite details on her appearance that fuel his hope. Dirty blonde hair. Blue eyes. Dark circles underneath her eyes. She travels with an NCR sniper, a cyberdog, a Mexican ghoul, a drunkard, a tinkerer, a super mutant, an eyebot (Israel raises his eyebrow at that one), and a doctor. James comes back more blissful than Israel has ever seen him, and he doesn't have the heart to voice his doubts.

"Maybe that doctor will be my new son-in-law," he jokes, and Israel smiles weakly in reply. James insists on eating dinner with the troops, and one of them comes up to him. She's First Recon, the beret lopsidedly placed on her head.

"Hey," she greets. James smiles brightly, his ruined face looking a little worse for wear despite the smile.

"Hello. What can I do for you?" he asks.

"I hear you're looking for the Courier. How come?" she asks, her voice gentle and undemanding. James hesitates, and Israel watches the woman closely, ready to pounce.

"I-I think I might know her," he decides to say. She nods, and says,

"She's heading back to the Strip. You might be able to catch her," she says. "I'd worry about what you want her for, but you've done a hell of a thing helping Richards." She grins, and adds, "Plus, I'd be worried about her if she couldn't defend herself with that giant group she's got." James smiles, and sets his utensils down.

"Thank you. We'll leave as soon as possible. Israel?" he asks, and he leaves his concern for the other man's wellbeing unsaid. Israel nods, swallowing a mouthful of Instamash.

"Let's go," he says, trying to ignore the creaking in his old bones.


	8. Can't you see him?

Fucking Cazadors. They're the scourge of the wasteland, and Israel hates them. He almost misses Navarro, hell even the Capital Wasteland, simply because they were devoid of cazadors. James and Israel were tracking down the elusive Courier when they got swarmed with the damned things.

Israel aims his plasma defender at one hovering dangerously close to James, and it turns into a pile of green goo. James punches one in front of him, and it's wing flutters to the ground. He grins at Israel, and Israel shakes his head. Personally, he isn't one for unarmed fighting. He doesn't like to get too close to his enemy, but it brings something primal out in James that he can't release anywhere else, and so Israel watches his back.

James has always been a sight to behold, even now that his skin is cracked and battered like an old map. He grabs an attacking cazador's stinger, breaking it off the insect before stabbing the insect with it. He throws the cazador to the ground, and laughs. Israel begins to laugh with him, but his voice is cut off as a sharp stab of pain blossoms through his shoulder.

The cazador buzzes around his head, waiting for him to fall. His vision blurs, and he shakes his head furiously to clear it. His plasma defender falls limply from his hands, and he stumbles into James. James' arms wrap around him to keep him steady before shooting the cazador down.

Israel can't make very much sense of anything. The Mojave runs together in one mediocre brown blur. James leads him away from the buzzing hoards that begin to gather, but Israel can't focus on any of that.

All he sees is the specter of a blonde little boy smiling up at him. He reaches for him, but James pulls him in the opposite direction.

"Wait," he cries, struggling to get away. "James, he's there. Can't you see him?" James doesn't answer, grimly pulling him away from his hallucination. He struggles harder, and James grunts with the effort of holding him back.

Israel calls the boy's name, voice on the edge of breaking. The boy simply smiles, and fades from his vision. With a howl, Israel fades from consciousness, a limp weight in James' arms.


	9. No se lo Digas

Warning: I probably conjugated the Spanish wrong. Soy gringa, and I'm also a little rusty. D:

* * *

><p>Arcade looks up from the campfire he has been half-heartedly stroking.<p>

"Arcade," he hears the wind cry. Courier looks at him questioningly. "Arcade."

"You ok?" she mouths.

"Did you hear that?" he mouths back. She shakes her head no, and he tries to shake the phantom voice from his head.

"Arcade," it calls, dredging up memories long past. "Arcade."

"Not listening," he murmurs, turning back to stoke the fire. Courier coughs, and tries to stifle it. Boone is at her side instantly, silently handing her the canteen of water. She smiles weakly, taking a dutiful sip even though she doesn't want it. Boone gently rubs her back, and she tries not to stiffen too much.

"So, the plan is to stop at the Lucky 38 for supplies, and then head to Jacobstown?" Arcade asks as a means to break the uncomfortable silence. She nods, absently patting Rex's brain case. He wines pitifully, eyes scrunched closed.

"Yeah," she says hoarsely. "I heard there is a doctor up there who specializes in cyberdogs." Arcade fights away the phantom image of a stern man staring at him disapprovingly from behind his glasses. Surely there had to be more than one doctor who specializes in cyber dogs, right? He looks up from the fire to see Courier fondling that piece of paper. Before he can comment on it, Cass does.

"What the hell is that piece of paper you're always fingering?" she demands. "A love letter or something?" The Courier holds the paper to her chest defensively.

"None of your business," she says, and Cass pouts almost petulantly.

"Come on," she almost wines. "Not knowing has been killing me. I'll even share some of my whiskey." The Courier's face breaks into the first smile Arcade has seen in a while.

"Nope," she says. Cass groans, and Veronica decides to help her out.

"Ladies don't kiss and tell, Cass," she pipes up helpfully. She winks at Courier, and Courier looks almost grateful. Cass grumbles about 'shut-ins who won't share any juicy details when their friends are going through a dry spell', and rolls over to go to sleep.

Arcade watches her look at the slip of paper, and mouth softly to herself. It's almost a compulsion for her, a ritual. Boone alternates between watching for enemies, and watching her with hooded eyes. Raul comes back from hunting, fresh Gecko meat clenched in his hand. He puts a finger up to his lips to tell Arcade to be quiet, and sneaks up behind the Courier to startle her.

"It's the cucuy! Rawr!" he says teasingly, and she startles before laughing. She drops the piece of paper, and reaches over to pick it up.

Her expression morphs into one of pure panic when Raul picks it up first.

He looks down at it, and back at her, like he can't believe what he is seeing. She looks up at him pleadingly, and he looks around at the group. Aracde struggles to hear the ghoul speak, and is frustrated when he can't understand him.

"¿Sabes Caronte?" She nods, and he sighs deeply. "Oh, hija."

"Por favor," she says. "No se lo digas." He nods, and sits down. All at once, the both of them look years wearier.

* * *

><p>Cucuy-Bogeyman<p>

Hija-Daughter

¿Sabes Caronte?-You know Charon?

Por favor, no se lo digas-Please, don't tell.


	10. Running out of Time

Note: The timeline is skewed, so I guess consider this a partial AU?

* * *

><p>Israel's fever has finally gone down. James knows that they're safe in the building he sought refuge for them in, a fisherman's shack at the edge of Lake Mead. He can hear the Cazadors buzzing outside, and hopes they'll lose interest by morning. He can probably stop wiping the sweat from Israel's brow, but he doesn't. He keeps his hands on him, and watches the weak rise and fall of his breath.<p>

Israel is his oldest friend. He knew the other man long before Madison, or Catherine. Knew him back when Project Purity was just a pipe dream, and he was searching the wastelands of America for some sort of way to make it a reality. He remembers walking into that bar and seeing him for the first time, drinking whiskey and scowling at anyone who had dared to look at him. James, in his youthful bravado, sat next to him when no one else in the bar would dare to do so.

Shortly after, he raced to the inn they were staying at, and rescued the life of his only wife and child. Israel invited him to travel with his group for a while, and James couldn't find it in himself to say no. He stayed with them for years, becoming close friends with Israel, discussing Old World literature with Mona, and watching Arcade grow from a weak baby to a strapping, if somewhat shy, young boy.

He could forget about the plights of the Capital Wasteland, and could almost forget about making Project Purity a reality. He even took Orion's teasing in good form.

"_Project Purity? What kind of pansy-ass name is that?" _

Even when he found out they were Enclave, that didn't stop his blind devotion. He was always wary of them after that, but he never stopped trusting Israel.

And then he died, or so they had thought.

There had been a summons to Navarro sent to them. Israel had wanted to ignore it, but Orion had talked him into it. They all went, with little Arcade in tow, to receive new orders. James had gone along with a cover story of being part of the East Coast branch of the Enclave. They hadn't existed at the time, and at that point he thought they never would.

"_I'm going to give the brass a piece of my mind," _Israel had said. "_I'm through. Done. I have Mona and Arcade to think about now_." Arcade had seen the eyebots, and squealed with delight. He called them all 'Ralphie' and chattered to James excitedly about going on wasteland adventures with one. He smiled indulgently and picked Arcade up to see the ones higher up.

"_Just be careful," _James had murmured, fearful for his friend's life. "_I know you served them, but they're still Enclave. They're still ruthless." _Israel had smiled that same prideful smile, the smile that said he was immortal, and James always believed him.

That was the last time James ever saw him until meeting him in a bar in the Georgia wasteland, almost forty years later.

"You know," he begins, both to soothe Israel from the nightmares the poison gave him and to soothe himself from old memories. "Both times I've met you; it's been in some dank dive somewhere. Both times I've met you, I've come away with you at your slightest urging." He shakes his head, wiping sweat from the other man's brow. "We've both been married, and lost our wives. We both have children that we have no idea where they are."

"James," Israel moans, and James pauses to see if he is awake. He is still held captive by the throes of bad dreams, and James presses a soft kiss to his forehead.

"We're too old for this," he whispers against the wrinkled skin of Israel's forehead. "We're running out of time."

But running out of time to do what, James couldn't say.


	11. Just Fine

Courier decides, inexplicitly, to change their plans and head straight to Jacobstown. The farther up the mountain they get, the colder the air and the worse it is on her. She tries to stifle her coughing, and the others strike up conversation to cover the sound of her wheezing.

"So, who wants to have a snowball fight when we get up the mountain?" Veronica asks cheerfully, and Arcade can almost kiss her for her exuberance. "I call Courier." Courier laughs, and starts hacking again, but the smile doesn't leave her face. Boone is by her side, as always, and this time she leans into him without a fuss.

"We can bake cookies," Lily cheers, and Courier nods.

"Of course, grandma," she rasps. "Any kind of cookies you want." Lily coos at her, and sweeps her up into her giant arms, much to Courier's chagrin.

"Little Jimmy needs to take a breather. He knows how much the cold aggravates his asthma." Courier opens her mouth to protest, only to be cut off by Veronica.

"Yeah, Jimmy," she says, grinning. Rex whines, and sits down. Cass leans over to pet him, murmuring soft words of encouragement.

"I'm going to scout for a place to for us to stay," Boone says. He takes off his coat and holds it out to the Courier. She smiles weakly and Lily takes it from Boone, wrapping Courier up in it tightly. "I'll be right back."

"I'll come with you," Raul says. "Couldn't hurt for you to have another set of eyes, even if they are half blind." Raul and Boone take off, Boone's red beret becoming a speck in the distance. They all sit down and Veronica tries to start a campfire, finally filching some of Cass' whiskey to use as fuel.

Cass doesn't pay her any sort of mind other than to make a face at her. She's busy talking to Rex, and Arcade thinks her voice is the softest he has ever heard it.

"Poor thing. You and Courier are just about dying on us, aren't you? Too bad we can't get her a transplant to fix whatever's wrong with her." Rex whines, leaning into Cass' hand, and she says, "Shh, I know it hurts, boy. You can make it. Hell, I'll even carry you if the going gets rough, all right?" She looks up to see Arcade staring up at her, and says defensively, "What?"

"I," Arcade says, not sure what to say. "You're a hell of a lot nicer than you let on." Cass snorts, patting the spot next to her.

"Siddown, pretty boy. No use in freezing your ass off by yourself," she says, and he plops down next to her. He strokes Rex's flank, ignoring the faded red bull painted on it.

"I always wanted a dog," he speaks up suddenly. Cass lights two cigarettes, passing him one. He takes it without complaint.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," he says. "Always thought they were amazing when they weren't feral." He leaves out the part about having a dog being as American as baseball and apple pie, and wanting to live out the American Dream as preached by the Enclave.

"I had one once," Cass says. "His name was Sour. A left over from before my old man took off."

"Did you like him?"

"He was mean as fuck to anyone but me and my ma. But yeah. He was a damned good dog," she says almost nostalgically, scratching Rex behind the ears.

Boone and Raul make it back, and lead the group to a shack built into the side of the mountain. Arcade finds his eyes looking toward the Remnant's Bunker, and he feels almost ill at the thought of being so close to it. He takes deep breaths, telling himself that even if the others did find it, there was no way they would know what he used to be. No way to tell by looking at him.

"You ok?" Boone asks worriedly, eyes darting back and forth between him and Courier. Arcade swallows.

"Fine," he says, forcing a grin. "Just a little tired."


	12. Thank You

James' voice gets rougher by the day. Israel hates it. He's afraid that soon, he'll no longer be able to tell James' voice from other ghouls he comes across. James keeps Israel bedridden for far longer than he thought was necessary, but every time he tries to move his breath is taken away by a shot of pain that course through his entire being.

The door to the shack is open, and Israel is watching James fish. He can almost see the man he used to look like, and the faint outline of a blonde child on his knee.

"What was your daughter like?" he croaks, shifting in his bedroll uncomfortably. He's too hot, but it's hard to find the energy to do more than squirm. Even talking exhausts him. James freezes for a split second before answering.

"She _is _very intelligent," he answers. "Very kind. A lot like her mother, but more like me, God bless her. I," and at this, he pauses. "I always felt guilty, and tried not to be too hard on her."

"Why?" Israel asks. James doesn't answer until after he manages to pull a fish out of the water, and watches it struggle for breath until dying.

"I was always comparing her to Arcade," he answers finally, shooting an apologetic look at Israel. "I always wanted her to be like him. As well-behaved, as smart. I was secretly delighted when her hair grew to be blonde because it meant she looked a little more like him."

"You took care of him after I was gone, didn't you?" Israel asks, a weariness infecting his voice. "After you thought I was dead." James nods, and sadly answers,

"I stayed until Mona died. I would've stayed after that too, but Orion forced me out at gunpoint. He blamed me for not being able to protect you two."

"I'm sorry," Israel says. "For that." James shakes his head.

"I'm not. I understood. Even when I left to go back to the Capital Wasteland, I always thought about you," he says, and his look makes Israel avert his eyes. It's too deep, too searching and loving, and Israel can't deal with it.

He doesn't deserve it.

James continues to speak.

"I thought about all of you. You know, I never wanted children of my own until I met you and Mona. Until Arcade." James falls silent, working on gutting the fish for dinner.

"I don't know how to thank you," Israel says, more to break the silence than anything else. "For taking care of him." James shakes his head, and a soft hint of a smile graces his ruined features.

"No thanks needed. You all were my family. I loved you."

Israel doesn't ask if that love still exists. Somehow, he doesn't think he can bear to know.


	13. Let it Snow

It's the first time she's laughed in a while, even though she is busy getting pummeled with snowballs. Her laughter is infectious, and soon the whole group is laughing too.

She isn't doing much better than she was, but she's pushing through for the sake of the group. They all can see that, and don't begrudge her it. They all tell her how well she's doing, how healthy she looks, and even Arcade can't help but join in with their false encouragements.

He may not have a high tolerance for bullshit, but sometimes life is too short.

She hits Cass in the back of the head with a snowball, and the caravaneer swears playfully. Cass tackles her into the snow, taking care to not slam into her too hard. Courier squeals with delight, wrestling away from her. Rex barks happily from the sidelines, and races over to the two women to lick their faces. Doc Henry had given the cyberdog some medicine for the pain, and in the morning they were going to head out to find him a new brain.

They were a lot like Dorothy and her ragtag bunch trying to find the wizard, only instead of a yellow brick road they were traversing a nuclear wasteland forgotten by time, Arcade muses.

Courier hits Arcade with a snowball, and he takes it with good grace. He even manages to laugh while brushing the freezing snow out of his hair. She shoots him a lopsided grin before holding a finger to her lips. She eyes Raul, who has his back turned to them and is talking to Boone. She sneaks over while Cass and Veronica pummel each other with snowballs and yell obscenities that cause Lily to scold the both of them, and _do they kiss their mothers with those mouths? _ E-DE chirps along, happily playing something about letting it snow, and Arcade tries not to glare at the robot too much.

Boone raises an eyebrow when he sees Courier, but otherwise lets her dump snow over the ghoul's head. He swears beautifully in Spanish while Boone and Courier laugh. Arcade sits on the porch next to a happy Rex, lighting up another cigarette. He always promised Daisy he would never take up smoking, but he always seems to smoke during times of crisis and cold weather.

Courier turns to Boone to throw snow at him, but he beats her to it. She spits the snow out of her mouth with a delighted expression, and tries to tackle him. He easily catches her arms, and holds her a little too close against him. She gives him a wary look, and he smiles. Arcade blows a puff of smoke out, watching the two through a haze. Boone picks Courier up, twirling her around before gently depositing her into a pile of snow. Arcade hears a muffled 'Hey!' before Courier sits up, pulling Boone in after her.

"Those two should just fuck and get it over with," Cass grumbles, plopping down next to Arcade, the brim of her hat weighed down with snow.

"I love it when you talk dirty," Arcade comments, handing her a cigarette. She lights it, and before she can bring it to her lips, Veronica plucks it out of her hand, E-DE buzzing around her head.

"These are bad for you, you know," she says, taking a deep drag before handing it back to Cass.

"Stop bogarting my smokes, you dyke," Cass teases. Veronica, in response, collapses into Cass' lap.

"I'm obviously the femme of the two of us, you butch dyke," Veronica says, kissing Cass' cheek. Cass rolls her eyes, but Arcade can see the hint of a grin from underneath her hat. Raul is the last to join the group on the porch, grumbling about how bad the cold is for his bones while still grinning. They all watch Courier and Boone play in the snow, placing bets on when they'll get tired (or in Cass and Raul's case, bets on when they'll finally give up the ghost and start a relationship).

Arcade stops paying attention after a while, instead focusing on the snow. The last time he saw snow was when he was a small child. It was just after his father died, and try as he might, he can't remember much about his father other than his height. What he remembers is James, and Courier looks so much like him it hurts. He remembers James helping him build a snowman, and having a snowball fight with him because there weren't any other kids around. He remembers a sadness and longing at his father's passing, and he remembers those emotions reflected in James' eyes.

Arcade is pulled from his reminiscing by a loud, persistent coughing. He turns to see Courier doubled over, wheezing, and Boone adamantly trying to lead her to the lodge. She's shaking her head, but once she coughs hard enough to splatter blood in the snow, Boone picks her up to carry her inside. Arcade follows them inside, and the rest of the group is at his heels. Courier looks over Boone's shoulder at the snow with a familiar sad look in her eyes, and Arcade fights to stay in the present, even while her gaze is pulling him into a past he'd rather forget.


	14. Vexed to Death

"I hate being cooped up," Israel grumbles, glaring at the rotting walls of the shack. James cooks dinner, smiling gently at him.

"At least we know you're feeling better," he says. "Yesterday, you didn't have the energy to complain.

"I'm well enough to travel, and you know it," Israel says, even though he isn't, and they both know that. James just shakes his head, handing Israel a plate of food.

"You'll need to eat if you're going to be good for anything," he says gently. Israel grumbles about eating 'wasteland crap', but puts the spoon to his mouth anyway. He doesn't tell James that he loves his cooking, instead opting for grumpy silence.

"We've probably missed her, if she went back to Vegas," Israel says between mouthfuls of food. James nods absently, fingering the pages of his Bible.

"That's fine. She's not keeping a low profile. We'll be able to catch her again."

"What are you going to do if it isn't her?" Israel asks, swallowing.

"I don't really know," James admits. "Apologize for the trouble? I'll probably keep traveling with you until one of us dies." Israel coughs, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. _That might be sooner than we think, _he should say.

"Pfft. When _you _die, you mean. I'm fucking immortal," he says instead, before succumbing to a coughing fit. "This damn Mojave weather. Too much goddamned dust," he wheezes. James is at his side instantly, patting his back gently.

"You need to take it easy," James chides, and Israel scoffs, but still lets the other man lean him back.

"I'll take it easy when I'm dead," he grumbles. James laughs, moving the dishes aside.

"I'm here to make sure you take care of yourself before that happens."

"You sound just like Mona did, you know that? No wonder you two got along so well. Sometimes I feel like she should've married you instead of me," Israel says, blinking sleep from his eyes.

"You two were perfect together," James answers, his voice strangely quiet. Israel doesn't comment, only motions towards James' Bible.

"Read me a story out of that thing, would you?" he says. "I'm bored out of my damned mind." James picks up the book, and obliges him.

"Then went Samson to Gaza, and saw there a harlot, and went in unto her," James begins.

"A harlot, huh? Sounds like my kind of story," Israel says, and James tries to hide his smile.

"Hush, you old pervert." Israel makes a face at him, and motions for him to continue reading. He fades in and out of consciousness, listening to James' voice more than James' words. He used to make him and Mona read to the group while they were traveling. They had great fun with it, even taking turns and acting out the stories they read. They all adored the stories, even Orion, who often grumbled about literature being a woman's domain. James would affect silly voices, and Mona would read her lines with a dramatic flourish.

Israel would sit enraptured with the both of them, watching their faces and bodies more than listening to the stories they would tell. Whenever Arcade would cry, the two of them would improvise the stories, telling them from memory. James and Mona had read many of the same things, and would finish each other's stories while Israel bounced Arcade on his knee.

There weren't any more stories after they were summoned to Navarro. Israel was told to serve the Enclave until his final breath, or face the consequences.

"_There isn't anything you can do to me that I can't survive," _he had boasted to the brass.

"_But there is," _they had replied. "_You can rejoin our ranks, or you can watch your entire platoon die. Moreno, Kreger, Johnson, Whitman. We will execute them all. Your wife and child? We will tie them to posts, and leave them for raiders. That soldier from the East? We will send him back to his commanding officers in a matchbox. Your call, Gannon." _

He had made his call, and loathed the Enclave ever since. He rejoiced when, a scant two years later, a tribal from Arroyo blew Navarro to hell. He never set out to search for them, instead drifting through the wastes as a man without a purpose. He didn't think they would ever forgive him for his deception.

"'And she said unto him, How canst thou say, I love thee, when thine heart is not with me? Thou hast mocked me these three times, and hast not told me wherein thy great strength lieth.'"

"That's enough for now," Israel says, a sick feeling in his stomach. "I'm feeling tired." James nods, shutting his book. "Short version. How does it end?"

"Samson, vexed to death by Deliliah's questioning, tells her the secret of his strength."

"What is it?"

"His hair. He keeps it long, and God gives him strength."

"What happens afterwards?" Israel asks, stifling a yawn. James pulls the blanket up around his narrow, withered shoulders.

"She cuts his hair, robbing him of his strength, and delivers him to his enemies," James answers smoothly, tucking the blanket around Israel. His hands warm his freezing flesh, and he is sad to feel them leave his skin.

"What an awful story," Israel murmurs, his eyes drifting close. "Is the whole book like that?" James chuckles, and Israel can see his youthful face smiling in his memories.

"Only half of it."

"And the other half?"

"I'll tell you when you wake up."


	15. Thought You Died

Courier falls ill with a fever. Marcus lets them stay in the rooms farthest from the rest of Jacobstown's inhabitants, much to Keene's displeasure. The nightkin finds little solace in the fact that they are too far away to stare at him and his brethren.

Boone leans against the wall with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, and his teeth clench with every rattling breath Courier takes. Veronica hovers over Arcade's shoulder worriedly, and Arcade finally has to come get Cass to pry her away.

"Tell everyone I'm fine," Courier says weakly, after drifting in and out of consciousness for some time. "Arcade, I could cut the tension in this room with a knife. It's just a fever."

"You're treading on dangerous ground," he says, checking her temperature. She is still hot to the touch. "Even 'just a fever' could kill you in the state you're in." She makes a face, and turns to look at the rest of the group, Veronica in particular.

"I'll be fine," she says, forcing a grin. "What I care about is Rex. Did anyone find out where to get him a new brain?"

"Best bet is Gibson Scrapyard," Cass says. "I can get it while you recover." Courier nods, her eyes drifting closed. She struggles to stay awake.

"Take someone with you," she says sleepily. Cass motions for Veronica to follow her, and Veronica shakes her head.

"Come on, kid," Cass says gently. Veronica doesn't say anything, but miserably follows the other woman out. Courier falls asleep, and Arcade sighs.

All he can do now is wait.

After the sun sets, the Courier's fever still hasn't broken, and it's affecting her state of mind. She glances around the room frantically.

"We have to go," she says. "Where is Charon?" Arcade bites back a weary sigh. Boone places a hand on his shoulder.

"I can stay with her if you need sleep," he offers, and Arcade isn't sure if he's ever been tempted by anything more in his life. He nods sleepily, and stands up.

"Come get me if you can't handle her," he says. Courier swigs her legs over the bed, and Arcade watches Boone try to gently push her back.

"You need rest," he says gently, and Courier looks on the verge of tears.

"You don't understand," she whispers. "We can't let them have it. Where is Charon?"

"We won't," Boone says, and Arcade could bless him if he were a religious man. "We'll keep it safe."

"Charon," she demands. She begins calling for him, and she struggles away from Boone to stand. Arcade bites back a shout. He's tired, she's sick, and all he wants to do is fall in a heap and sleep for the next few days. She manages to get to the door, only to be stopped by Raul.

"Get back in bed," the ghoul says firmly, his hands clenching her shoulders. She looks up at him, and caresses his cheek almost blissfully.

"Charon," she says happily, and Arcade can see Raul's resulting wince from across the room.

"Hija," he begins, but she doesn't let him finish. Her lips slam against the ghoul's with a desperate want that makes Arcade blush. He chances a glance over at Boone, and tries not to flinch at the hopeless look on the other man's face.

Raul pushes the Courier away after a moment (_Too long a moment_, Arcade thinks), and she simply gazes up happily at him.

"I thought you were dead," she whispers, and Raul, for once, looks at a loss for words. He leads her back to the bed, and touches the back of his palm to her forehead.

"Arcade," he murmurs, and Arcade nods, pulling out a syringe of Med-X to administer to bring her fever down.

"Keep her distracted," he orders, and Raul nods wearily. She turns to look at Raul again with a smile.

"I love you," she says, throwing her arms around him. "I never told you that enough." Raul hugs her back, more to hold her in place so Arcade can give her the shot than anything else.

"I know," he says softly, kissing her forehead. Arcade administers the Med-X, and only a soft gasp of pain is heard from Courier, which Raul soothes with another kiss. "I always knew."

"Who is he?" Boone demands quietly after the Courier falls asleep again.

"I don't know," Raul answers evasively.

"Bullshit," Boone snaps. "You talk to her about him. She hallucinates that you're him. That piece of paper she carries around like a god damned rosary has his name written on it. Who. Is. He?" Arcade puts a hand on Boone's arm in an effort to soothe him, but he shrugs it off. He shoots a guilty look at Arcade, and so Arcade leaves him alone. Raul sighs before answering.

"I met him about fifty years ago. I made my way to a place called The Capital Wasteland." Arcade shoots a look at Courier, and she looks more like James when she's asleep. "I think that's where Courier's from. If so, it's a wonder she made it out here. The Capital Wasteland is a godless, lawless land. Everything is dead, and people would kill one another over a bottle of clean water. At least, they did when I was there last."

"And Charon?" Boone prompts.

"A ghoul. He worked for a slimy bastard named Ahzrukhal down in Underworld. He didn't talk much, but from what I could gather Ahzrukhal has just bought his contract. Some sort of brain-washing keeps him bound to whoever holds that slip of paper. I don't know how Courier met him, just that she did."

"And now she thinks he's dead," Arcade murmurs. Boone shifts uncomfortably, all of his previous anger dissipated. He takes a seat next to Courier's bed, and a weak smile breaks over his face when ED-E begins to play soft music.

"You guys can go to sleep," he croaks. "I'll watch her." Arcade nods, and Raul hesitantly pats Boone's shoulder before leaving the room as fast as his old legs can carry him.

"You sure?" Arcade asks. Boone nods.

"Yeah." Arcade walks toward the other bed in the room, and collapses on it. Boone slumps over in his chair, and his hand reaches out to grasp hers. Her skin is still unbearably hot, even with the dose of Med-X.

Arcade watches Boone watch Courier until he finally drifts into unconsciousness.


	16. How Long?

"What the hell is that thing doing here?" Courier demands, startling Arcade out of his slumber. He groggily tries to wipe the sleep from his eyes, and puts on his glasses. Courier frantically searches for something whilst glaring daggers at ED-E. Boone is speaking unsurely, stumbling over his words and trying to calm her.

"Where in the hell is my plasma rifle? Charon?" she calls, looking under the bed. Boone spots Arcade getting up, and a pitiful sort of relief courses through his being.

"Her fever went back up," he says. "Her skin is so hot. I don't know how she's walking around. Arcade, help me. I don't know what to do." Arcade nods, patting him on the shoulder.

"You've done the best you've been able," he murmurs, eyeing Courier as she swings at ED-E. "Don't worry."

"Autumn! Can you hear me?" she says menacingly to ED-E, throwing a lamp at the robot. He chirps unhappily as he dodges it, and Arcade does his best to shield Boone from the spray of broken glass. "You are never going to get our hands on it. Do you _fucking hear me?_ I won't let you have it!_" _

"Courier," Arcade tries, but she doesn't respond. "Courier, stop. That's ED-E. _ED-E. _He's ours."

"God damn it, _where is my plasma rifle?" _She spots Arcade, and a look of recognition flashes in her eyes. "You know, the one I got from Harkness? Dogmeat," she says, turning toward Rex. The dog sleepily raises his head in confusion. "Can you find it, boy?"

"Courier," Arcade tries again. "I don't know where you think you are, but you're in the Mojave. We're at Jacobstown. That's Rex." She gives him a blank stare.

"Courier?" she asks. "That isn't my name." Boone steps forward, motioning for her to come to him.

"Catherine," he says, and she turns her gaze to him. "You're very sick. You need to rest." He takes an unsteady step toward her, holding out his hand. "Arcade is a doctor. He'll help you." Courier wobbles on her feet unsteadily, holding her head.

"It hurts," she whimpers.

"I know it does. Come on. Get back in bed." She nods, and Boone helps her back to the bed. Her eyes close as soon as her head hits the pillow, and they try not to focus on how shallow her breathing is. Arcade busily gets to work, opening his doctor's bag. Boone wipes the sweat from her brow almost lovingly.

"This isn't just a fever, is it?" he asks. Arcade doesn't answer, allowing him to continue talking. "I heard stories back in the NCR about this sort of thing. People too irradiated to be well, but not enough to die. It starts to affect their brain."

"Her brain is decaying," Arcade says finally. "Rotting in her skull. I wasn't sure at first, but I was afraid. Now I know I'm right."

"Ferals go through the same thing," a voice from the doorway startles both of them. Raul stands there, leaning against the wall and looking years older. "That's why they're barely more than snarling savages, right Doc?" Arcade nods, and can feel Boone breaking next to him.

The other man doesn't say anything else, but Arcade can feel him trembling. He can see his grief in the way he holds Courier's hand. Finally, he whispers,

"How long?" Arcade feels a sharp pain in his chest.

"Anywhere from a few months to a few years," he answers. _Lies, _he thinks. _She won't last another year_. "There are ways to stem the tide, but it'll submerge her eventually." Boone nods, pressing her hand against his cheek.

The three of them sit in silence, watching the unsteady rise and fall of her breathing


	17. Leave A Good Looking Corpse

James and Israel begin traveling again at Israel's insistence. Israel doesn't want to be the one to keep James behind. He can push these old bones forward for the chance to make James happy.

They stop in Novac, and James chuckles to himself.

"I'll be damned," he says, craning his head to look up at the dinosaur. "That old thing is still here." Israel scoffs. James shakes his head. "Let's get a room for the night."

"I can keep going," Israel offers.

"You can, but I can't. These old bones need to rest," James says, flashing him a grin. "You know how I can get without my beauty sleep." Israel barks a laugh and they head to the shop inside the dinosaur. The man behind the counter is busy helping two young women pick out supplies. Israel crinkles his nose in disgust. They smell like they haven't bathed, and he stops himself from thinking what he and James must smell like, an old man and a rotting ghoul.

While the shop owner goes to retrieve their ammo, food, whiskey and various books, the woman in the cowboy hat elbows the woman in the hood.

"Chin up, soldier," she says. "She'll be fine. It's like she said-it's just a fever. Look at how far she's gotten already." The other woman nods sadly, and the woman in the cowboy hat flings an arm around her. "Come on. We'll spend the night here and get plastered, and head back to Jacobstown in the morning." The woman in the hood forces a smile, and James watches the shop owner come back with his arms full of their supplies. He drops a few of the books.

"Darn it," he says. James bends over to help him, picking up a weathered book. The shop owner thanks him, and James nods, smiling softly in reply.

"Ah," he says. "Rousseau. This is heavy reading for a night of heavy drinking."

"We have friends who are into books," the woman in the cowboy hat says, taking it from him. "Including this cute little number here," and at that, she nudges the other woman. "Personally, I could never get into books. Too much fucking work."

"Same," Israel grunts.

"They're get well presents," the woman in the hood says.

"Oh?" James says, and Israel has always loved and hated his friendliness. "The friend with a fever? I've always found that hot Bramhim stew and cold Nuka Cola makes me feel better." He holds his hand out. "James." With a grin, the cowgirl takes it.

"Cass. "

"Veronica." James nudges Israel, and he reluctantly answers,

"Israel." Cass grins, motioning to the copious amounts of whiskey the two had bought.

"Would you fellas like to drink with us?" James smiles, and Israel grudgingly nods.

"We would love to."

The four of them make their way to the motel room at the top of the stairs, and Israel grabs James' arm.

"What are you doing?" he hisses. James just smiles serenely, and reassuringly pats his hand.

"It's good to make friends," he says. "Besides, I haven't had a decent drink in God knows how long, and I'm sure you haven't either. And if the booze is free, then who am I to complain?" Israel stares at him incredulously, and James leans in to murmur against his ear. "The one in the hood is Brotherhood. I can see her holotags around her neck. I want to see if they know my daughter." Israel suppresses a shudder at the hot air ghosting across his ear, and nods.

"Your daughter is Brotherhood?' he asks, he asks, trying to quell the sudden surge of hate. _She's just a child you haven't met yet. _

"Back east she is. But at Forlorn Hope, they said one of her traveling companions is a Brotherhood scribe, remember?"

"Yeah," he answers slowly. The truth is, he doesn't, but he'll be damned before he lets James know that. Hazy memories are better than no memories, and he doesn't want James to worry about him any more than he already does. James nods to himself, and Israel watches an old woman exit from her room to smoke a cigarette, leaning over the railing as she watches the smoke drift up to blend into the fading Mojave sky.

"Hey, Ms. Whitman," the cowgirl greets, and Israel freezes. She looks at him, and he at her, and he expects her eyes to light up with a weary sort of recognition. But she pays him no mind, waving to the two young women, and goes back to smoking. He remembers her, can see her youthful figure hidden by the shell of the old crone she has become.

She used to be a hell of a pilot, flying the vertibird like she was a part of it. He wonders how she's survived this long. He should go talk to her, and he sees that sentiment echoed in James' face. James nudges him, and his feet move of his own accord. One step. Then two. Oh God. He doesn't want to do this. Soon, he is standing next to her, watching the sunset. She eyes him suspiciously, and he wants to run away from her, away from the Mojave Wasteland, where NCR waits like a starving dog in the west.

"Can I help you, stranger?" she asks. He should say something, anything, but finds his voice locked in his throat. She steps away from him, back into her room, and her eyes never leave his until her door shuts.

"You shouldn't smoke, Whitman," he murmurs, the scolding coming to his lips naturally even though he hasn't said it for decades. "You'll die early. Your country needs you."

"_Live fast, die young, and leave a good looking corpse," _he hears her voice reply, carried by the winds of the memories he struggles to hold on to.


	18. Rumpelstiltskin

Courier is up, sitting at the window and smoking a cigarette. Arcade's voice dies on his lips when he sees her frail, sickly figure silhouetted against the rising sun, and struggles for a few moments before his voice finally croaks,

"We need to talk." She wordlessly motions for him to sit in the empty seat next to her, and he walks past Boone, who is slumped over her bed and reaching for her hand in his sleep, and Raul, who is slumped against the wall next to him. With a deep breath, he sits down, and finds his voice.

"How dare you," he says, and feels cheated when she doesn't wince. "You knew."

"I told you I was dying," she says. "I didn't think I had to go into any more detail than that."

"How long?" he demands.

"About a year after it happened."

"After what happened, Catherine?" She does wince at that, and he still feels cheated because he isn't as satisfied with it as he thought he would be.

"Don't call me that," she murmurs.

"What? Catherine? That's your name, isn't it? It's the only thing we know about you other than the fact that you're a dead woman walking, and you didn't even have the fucking decency to tell us how bad it really was!"

"I'm sorry," she whispers. He sighs, rubbing his temples.

"So am I." She takes a deep breath, and he thinks that is the end of their conversation. He moves to stand, and she says,

"Please continue to call me Courier, Arcade."

"Why?" he asks dully. "I don't see any reason to continue this charade."

"It's the only name that has ever been mine," she answers, smiling wryly. "I have my father's last name, and the names of the two people he loved more than anything else in the world. Two people I have never even met."

"Oh? So, what's your full name, Rumpelstiltskin?" She takes a deep breath, and he isn't sure she is going to answer him. But she does.

"Neil. Catherine Israel Neil."


	19. Suspicious Minds

The motel room reminds James of her, and try as he might, he can't stop his hope from consuming him. Nuka Cola Victories and Quartzes light up the room the way the lone light fixture cannot, and he swears he sees a Quantum hidden away among them. Books line almost every surface not meant for sleeping, and a single fedora rests on top of the wardrobe.

"_Look, daddy!" she says, plopping a black fedora on her head. "I'm Sam Spade!" He smiles, and he swears he can see her ghoul body guard smile almost indulgently. _

He shakes his head, and finds his voice.

"Whose room is this?" he asks. Cass and Veronica look at him warily before answering.

"A friend's," Veronica answers finally, while Cass busies herself with pouring the drinks. Israel sits in one of the decrepit chairs, his bones aching and joints popping. He looks lost, and James feels a jagged pain shoot through him. Israel has never looked lost in the entire time he has known him, and he finds himself frightened. Veronica moves over to help Cass, and James moves to sit by Israel's feet.

"You can sit up here," Israel grunts, but James doesn't say anything, instead removing Israel's shoes. "Don't do that. My feet are filthy."

"They also must be killing you," he replies, rubbing the arch with his thumbs. Israel stifles a groan of appreciation.

"What are you doing?" Veronica leans over to whisper in Cass' ear. "We don't even know these men." Cass tops off one of the glasses, and hands it to Veronica.

"Courier taught me to make friends," she says simply. "Look at them. The sadness practically rolls off of them. The least we can do is make them a drink," she says, taking a deep swig of whiskey. "Take these to them, will ya, sweetheart?" Veronica nods, and numbly hands the men their drinks. The ghoul, James, smiles and thanks her. He pinches Israel's calf, and the man grumbles out a 'thank you' before taking a swig. Veronica watches his throat muscles clench, and hears James ask,

"So, what brings the two of you out to Novac?" His voice is slightly strained, like he is trying to weasel some sort of information out of them. Veronica shoots him a wary look.

"Our dog," she answers quietly. "Rex. He's a cyberdog that needs a new brain." James tsks, and says,

"How unfortunate. Will he get better with the transplant?" Cass snorts, pouring him another glass before he's even finished his first one.

"He sure will. Can't say the same for her though." Veronica elbows her sharply, and she yelps. "_What?" _

"Can't say the same for who?" James asks, and feels the cold steel of a powerfist press against his face. Israel growls, aiming his plasma rifle at her and Cass emits a loud,

"Whoa, _whoa _you son of a bitch!" Cass pulls her gun out, and gives Veronica a troubled look.

"You've been awfully interested in us," Veronica says. "Why? Who are you working for?" James opens his mouth.

"No one."

"I doubt it. You know what. I don't even want to know. Get out. You're not getting Courier."

* * *

><p>This took forever, and I don't even know why. D:<p> 


	20. No other Alternative

"That went well," Israel says sourly, lighting a cigarette as they walk down the I-95. James smiles weakly, kicking up a broken piece of highway. "That Brotherhood girl is lucky she didn't actually punch you. I would've killed her."

"I know," James says softly. "Thank you for staying your hand. She was just frightened." At this, Israel harrumphs. "It looks like this Courier has made some enemies."

"And it looks like some of her friends are ours," Israel grumbles.

"_Veronica, please," James begs, his voice desperate and urgent. "I think Courier may be-"_

_ "No!" she says hollowly, leading him out of the door. "You don't know what Courier is. You don't know __**anything.**_"

Remembering the desperate tone James used makes Israel's heart ache, and he claps James on the shoulder.

"You're shit at talking your way into and out of things. I'm surprised you got into that vault at all." This brings the smile back to James' face, and Israel has never been more happy to see anything since this whole affair began.

"Luck was in my favor then. They needed a doctor," he says. "After I left, my luck seemed to run out. Especially where my daughter was concerned."

"We'll find her," Israel says awkwardly. "We will." James smiles, and it's the same tired smile that Israel loved. It's a smile he can still make out through the ruined crevices of James' face.

"Of course we will," he says, his voice full with hollow determination. "We have to."

_There is no other alternative. _


	21. No More Lies

"You know, they were just old men," Cass says as they walk through the gate to Jacobstown. Veronica sighs. It is a conversation they'd been having the entire way back. One Veronica was being to hate.

"Cass, I know. It's just that even old men can be hard and unforgiving. They, the ghoul especially, were interested in Courier."

"Yeah? A lot of people are interested in Courier. She's raising some kind hell around here," Cass comments, leaning down to pick up some snow, letting it fall from her fingers. Veronica watches the snowflakes that melt cling to Cass' hand.

"Courier has enemies. Enemies she's too sick to deal with," she says. "Something just didn't sit right with me. I'm sorry." Cass shrugs.

"Don't apologize to me. I ain't mad. Besides, it's a small wasteland. We'll see them again."

"No more lies!" The voice is quiet but insistent. It isn't full of rage, bit a resigned sort of sorrow. They look over to see a familiar flash of a red beret against the snow covered trees. Courier is leaning against one, looking sicker than she did when they left. She's smoking a cigarette, and stifling her coughing. Veronica makes a move to move toward them, but Cass grabs her arm.

"Wait a minute, kid," she murmurs. "We should probably go inside." Veronica looks up at her, and Boone's soft voice drifts to the through the quiet and cold air.

"You screamed about someone named Autumn, and Charon. Tore the room apart looking for your plasma rifle. No more lies, Catherine. " Courier sighs, her head leaning back to look at the sky.

"You deserve that much, don't you? What do you want to know?" she asks.

"Everything. Who are you? Enclave?" he demands. She scowls at the mention of the Enclave, and shakes her head.

"The Lone Wanderer," she answers. Boone tilts his head, surprise blossoming over his face.

"What?"

"I'm on the radio." At the blank look Boone gives her, she says, "You know, '_Helllooooooo chiiiiiiildren, it's Three Dog, and I'm here to tell you about that kid from Vault 101!_" As soon as she finishes speaking, she closes her eyes. "Hell. This isn't the Capital Wasteland. Sorry. I'm the Lone Wanderer, Catherine Neil. Honorary Brotherhood Paladin, and scourge of the East Coast Enclave." She lifts a necklace chain out of her shirt to reveal glittering holotags. "Now I'm Courier, and I'd prefer to keep it that way."

"You're Brotherhood?" Veronica and Boone ask at the same time, one sounding excited and the other betrayed. She nods. Cass eyes her warily.

"What in the hell did we miss while we were gone?" 


	22. Discussions Regarding a Cyberdog

Doc Henry cleans his medical instruments, and his scalpel gleams in the faint moonlight drifting through the windows.

"You know," he says. "I never expected to see you again. I thought you were dead."

"Funny. I could've said the same for you. After all, you are two years older than God," a light voice seemingly teases. But there is an underlying tension to Arcade's words that permeates the air, and Henry isn't deaf to it.

"You can't run far enough, you know," Henry says after a moment. "All you can do is accept it."

"Accept what?" Arcade says. "My past? The way you accepted me?"

"Don't blame me for Moreno's shortcomings," Henry says. "We all loved you, Moreno included. He just didn't know how to show it other than knocking the hell out of you from time to time." Arcade grits his teeth at his matter-of-fact tone, and shakes off the phantom pains that shoot over his skin from bruises long since healed.

"Subject change," Arcade says brusquely, and Henry nods.

"Your cyberdog, Rex, is going to be just fine. His memories need time to meld with that of the old scrapyard dog, but he'll be fine. Can't say the same for your friend, though. She's lost what, ten pounds since you arrived?"

"Almost fifteen," Arcade says quietly. "But who's counting?" Henry looks over at him and says,

"She looks like him, you know."

"I know."

"Have you asked her about him?"

"No," Arcade says finally, pushing the image of a weary man with blue eyes from his mind. "I haven't."

"Afraid of what you'll hear?" Henry puts down his instruments. "I don't blame you. We lost all contact with him after Moreno ran him off. He loved your parents, as all of us did."

"I don't remember my parents very well," Arcade admits. "I just remember him." Henry smiles almost indulgently, and says,

"He was extraordinary. Unforgettable. If you were to see him again, I have no doubt you would recognize him in a heartbeat." Arcade nods, and reaches over to pat Rex. The dog's tail wags happily in his sleep, and the doctor smiles.

"I know you always wanted a dog," Henry says, breaking the tranquil and resigned peace that had come over Arcade. His voice sounds unsure, tentative, as if he had never said the words he was going to say next and wasn't sure if they would sound right. "I am sorry you never got one."

"It's all right. Would've been hard with all of the moving around we did. And the hiding." Arcade pulls his hand away from Rex's fur, his fingers still curling to touch it. Henry nods and, seeing as there was no more that Arcade was willing to discuss, he leaves Henry, and the memories contained within him , behind.


End file.
